Musings from the Left Side of the Couch
by Cannibalistic Skittles
Summary: You don't know what you were thinking, now. You moved from one place to the next, changing from a jealous boyfriend to a hypersensitive OCD freak. Still, things were bound to look up, right? Reader insert, title subject to change.
1. Chapter One: The Move

You remembered the landlord man (you didn't know his real job title, and you didn't care; you gave him money, he gave you a key) as being a small, nervous-looking man with over-greased black hair.

He had to warn you, he said, there were reasons the previous tenant moved out.

You were so deliriously happy, finally making a fresh start, that you cut him off, happily agreeing to take it all, the good and the bad.

Now, as you stood in the lowest floor of the complex staring at the 'Out of Order' sign on the elevator, heavy luggage in hand, being lectured to by a ridiculously tall and thin man, you thought:

…

Maybe you should have listened to what those cons were…

"…Of course, there will be no walking with shoes allowed, and absolutely no whistling will be permitted. You don't talk much; that's good. Keep it that way. Furthermore, the pipes in the…"

Oh yeah. Definitely should have listened.


	2. Chapter Two: Research

You did some research when you were all settled in.

Apparently, your new home's previous resident was some blonde actor named… "Alicia", or something of the sort. She hadn't been there long, but the landlord man (still didn't care about his title) had received many complaints about her from other tenants. She moved out shortly after, landing some big gig in Hollywood.

The elevator was perpetually broken, with no chance of it being fixed. So much for that idea...

Oh, right, one more thing; you lived in the apartment above man who had gone over his 'rules' with you.

"..."

Well, dang.


	3. Chapter Three: Interview

Chapter Three

It was much too early to be awake.  
Unfortunately, a new city meant a new job if you wanted to eat.  
And a new job meant getting up at—what time was it, anyway? Four in the morning? Or just about, anyway.  
It occurred to you that you were putting an unusual amount of effort in for this to work.  
Still, it made sense. You wanted this to work. This was your first real time being away from everyone, family and friends, and you _needed_ this to work. It was like a psychological thing. If you can't defeat this monster by yourself, you might as well just move back in with your parents—which, y'know, was seriously not going to happen, not after you went through four years of college.  
And right now, slaying the dragon required money.  
Which required a job.

You groaned and rolled away from your makeshift 'bed' of sheets and pillows, stretching your arms above your head with an audible 'pop!'.  
No, you had no real bed—too much to pay to move it, and you needed every cent you had. You sold it, along with other unimportant or large furniture.

Another reason to get your butt moving—a job sooner meant getting money sooner, and that meant you were that much closer to getting a real bed that wouldn't cause you to need serious chiropractic help in the future.

Right. Shower first, then breakfast, then we'll see about getting out that door and into that job.  
You made your way to the bathroom, carelessly shedding clothes behind you, too tired to really care.  
The warm water on your skin helped to wake you, washing away the weariness. It was nice to feel clean again, and what better way to do so than in your new, immaculate bathroom?

You dressed relatively simple, with the black pencil skirt the only major difference between this and your normal outfits.

You walked from the bedroom, feet bare, into the kitchen, shoes in hand.  
You sat on one of the raised stools at the island, pulling on your high heels, and you couldn't help but feel some anxiety. These next few hours could make or break your plans here.

This was the one of the only jobs with promise you had found.  
It was a small photography business, offering a small position as a photographer's assistance, helping with scheduling, lighting, keeping the smaller kids happy, etc. Basically, an over glorified secretary.

Still, it seemed to fit your needs. The pay was decent, the hours weren't too demanding, and it didn't seem like anything you'd particularly struggle with.  
But it felt like you were forgetting something. What could it…? Oh yes—breakfast.  
You made your way over to the refrigerator, and pulled out a carton of milk, a box of cereal, and a bowl and spoon. You were keeping everything there until further notice, which wasn't too hard a task, seeing as the aforementioned items were the only edible items you currently owned.  
You sat again with your cereal, letting your mind wander while munching on sugar-enhanced wheat.  
You really should buy groceries. You couldn't live forever on cereal, delicious as it may be. You had nearly worked out a plan to find a supermarket instead of buying all of your food from gas station convenience sections when you glanced over at the digital clock on the oven. 6:00. You were late.  
Swearing under your breath, you fairly tossed the bowl into the sink, hurrying to lock the door before rushing down the stairs, trying not to be later than you already were.

-.-.-.-.

6:23.  
Twenty-three minutes late.  
Maybe they wouldn't notice.  
…And maybe the prince of Wheretheheckistan would swoop down and claim you as his bride.  
Right, well…you'll only be later if you stand outside.  
Taking a deep breath, you braced yourself for the eventual rejection and opened the door.

The room was nearly black, light emanating from under a closed door at the end of a hallway.  
"Hello?" you said tentatively, looking into the darkened room. You stepped in, and the door swung shut behind you.  
You took a few steps in towards the center of the room, trying to decide what to do.

"Hello," said a voice behind you.  
You started, and turned.  
A woman stood, brown curls brushed back, expression mild as she held out a hand.  
"I am Melody Miran. I am… well, suffice it to say, I'm one of the higher-ups here. I assume you are (f/n) (l/n)?" she said.  
"Ah..yes…I mean, yes, I am (f/n) (l/n)." You reached out your hand, and the two of you shook hands.  
"Excellent," she said, "we received your resume earlier. Quite impressive, I might add. Just what we're looking for. No need to go over any of that then," she said, and she walked the wall on the opposite side of the room, flicking on a light. She then made her way to a cabinet, opening a drawer and thumbing through some papers.  
"Miss Miran…?" you questioned.  
"Oh, just call me Melody," she told you.  
When you didn't reply, she turned and asked, "is something wrong?"

"You're…this is…not what I expected," you confessed.  
Your eyes widened as you realized how your words must sound.  
Panicked, you attempted to rectify what you said, "I—I mean—"

She only laughed. "I don't think I've ever been what anyone expected me to be," she said, "but things have worked out for me anyway. No need to worry."  
She clapped her hands together. "Now then," she continued, "you know me, and I know you, but…what shall I call you? Miss (l/n) will never do."

[If you go by a nickname…]  
"Ah…some people call me (n/n)," you replied.  
"(n/n)? Cute! I like that," she said.

[If you don't go by a nickname…]  
"I…I just go by (y/n)," you told her.  
"Ah, no nickname? Doesn't matter, (y/n) works just as well," she replied.

"Well then! Miss (l/n)—[(y/n) or (n/n)]—I think, about the job…" she trailed off.

Wait… She took the time to be friendly, and now she's…going to tell you they already have someone, isn't she?

"…It's safe to say it's yours," she finished.  
"—I'll work hard, I don't ask much, I—er, what?" You stopped.  
"You've got the job," she repeated, amused.  
"Should we say…Monday? Seven o' clock?" She ventured.  
It was Saturday.  
"Sure! I mean, ah… if that works for you," you amended, smoothing down some wrinkles in your skirt.  
"You don't have to do that," she told you, "we're a rather informal business. It helps ease the tension."

You hesitated, almost afraid to ask the question that was on your mind—almost.  
"One more thing…what made you choose me so…quickly?" you asked.  
"We're, ah… a bit short staffed," she explained sheepishly, "and finding someone to fill the job seemed a bit…prudent. We've been going through applications in a hurry. You seemed to fit, so…" she trailed off, and shrugged.

You nodded. Whatever the reason, you had the job.

You remained composed as you walked out the door.  
In fact, you remained composed up until you had walked past two buildings before your composure shattered.  
"Woooo-hoo! I got it!" You cheered, jumping into the air (at this, you could see several pedestrians flinch away) before restraining yourself and continuing on your way.  
But your smile didn't leave your face until you got back to your apartment.  
It was a start.

-.-.

This long enough for ya? 1235 words, heck yea.

Sorry; the boys aren't in this one. They're in the next chapter, I promise!

This one is filler as well, but shall be referenced later.

I wanted it to be more like the series; like in the episodes, where small details from previous episodes are referenced. (The 'check engine' light, for example.)  
Right, well...see you next chapter!~


End file.
